Introspection
by PotatoBox
Summary: After the events in the movie, Buu often finds himself still pondering his existence and free will. One-shot, and slightly in-joke-ish. I just can't believe I'm finally doing this!


**Author's Note: **OKAY okay okay, I'm posting already. FIRST BtG FIC ON , WOO. XD So, as expected (or not so expected)... this is Taklay! Um, and this is just a one-shot ramble of Buu being introspective. I hope it's not horrible; I know how scattered my brain can be.

Also, I know I have another fic I've (no longer secretly) been posting here, but fffff. I'm going on hiatus next week, and I mostly just wanted to make the sub-category visible before I left for England.

So anyway. Since it's _not obvious, _I don't own Back to Gaya/The Snurks or anything. :P

* * *

Warm sunlight poured into the workshop from the front vent above the double doors, reflecting some light into the darkness of the loft above the kitchen. Far against the wall sat a small bed with a red duvet, the owner of which squirming as his dreams faded. Finally groaning and blinking awake, he took a quick glance around the room. He then sat up and yawned, stretching, before running his fingers through his messy, dark brown hair. Grabbing his glasses, he pulled himself out of bed and shuffled to his chest of drawers, pulling his night clothes off to replace them with his work clothes: a dark maroon shirt with a subtle patchwork pattern to it, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of tan work trousers with round patches at the knees. He then worked his toolbelt around his waist and checked his hair in the mirror. A quick once-over with a comb put it back into place, though there was that small cowlick that seemed to intensify when he went to bed soon after bathing he often found himself fighting with.

Then, the little man rushed down the stairs for a quick breakfast. He was shorter than average, and his house didn't seem to be built to compensate, best noted in how he always had to get to things on most of his shelves by standing on his toes, or a small stool. But it did not phase him in the least-- this had been routine for longer than he could remember, and the habit stuck even _after _he'd learned the purpose behind his own creation.

It had been at least two months since then, the day most of them referred to as the Storm. The day the sky went black and the Dalamite disappeared, the day their world, Gaya, was almost engulfed in darkness forever. It had been the only truely catastrophic event Gaya had ever known-- they were _still _rebuilding that bridge that was struck with lightning. But he didn't often ponder that. He pondered the things he'd learned from that event, being sucked into another world _much_ bigger than Gaya, much darker, colder, and stranger than he could ever have imagined. The world of his creator, the mind of which he and everything he knew had been born from.

What it came down to, however, was the underlying worry of his own existence. The Creator, Albert Drollinger, had been completely baffled by their appearance in his house. He said they were fictional, that he'd simply "made them up", written out their pasts to entertain the masses through transporter monitors-- televisions-- and books. But what did that mean for Gaya? He'd wanted to stay in the "real world", where he'd _stay _real, but in the end, even after those tearful goodbyes, he didn't have a choice.

Now, however, it seemed that they still had free will after all. The Snurks were no longer the horrible trio they were once considered to be... well, for the most part. Sometimes, you really can't change the spots on a zeldon. But, with the Snurks getting their own medals for saving Gaya, _others _had started coming out of the woodwork. Not many, although the prejudice and wary glances still made things uneasy. Tension in Town Square was building over a little historical spat between the Gayans and Snurks. Buu could only hope that it would calm down on its own.

All through breakfast-- consisting mostly of fruit, but also a little bread-- the little man, Buu, found himself feeding the chickens circling the ground floor of his workshop. They always managed to find their way in if he forgot to lock the swinging front door at night, and he _still _didn't always remember to. After he'd finished, however, he grabbed a broom from the corner and started sweeping their feathered behinds outside before going back to his tea and notes.

Sitting back down, he suddenly felt very aware that he'd been taking a lot of notes lately. Normally, he'd just throw something together without much thought, but since they'd come back, something in his mind had changed. Maybe he was just thinking too much about it all. Zino seemed to notice, but then his best friend had changed a little, himself, and felt it better he not talk about it. Not to mention the tea. When did Buu start drinking tea? He took a cautious sip, then frowned at the cup.

He had to go outside.

Brushing the night snow off of a boulder, Buu sat, staring out into Gaya's deep canyons. In the distance, pillars stood in between grey, rocky cliffs, with the occasional grassy valley and forest dotted by little homes tucked safely away. Zino would be coming soon, he knew, on his aviating machine. And, one of these days, Zino would let _him _drive it. Maybe.

Buu sighed, seeing his breath in the cool morning air. He felt awfully lonely in that moment, isolated on the mountainside. Sometimes, he wished he had other people he could confide in about their discoveries in the Real World. Someone else to talk to about his feelings. Zino was good and all, but it didn't seem to bother him at all that there was a giant man somewhere out there, having written their lives out from the beginning. How much did Albert know? Was he still writing for the show? Was it still affecting their lives? Galger had claimed that he'd made some suggestions to Albert, although how, Buu couldn't quite fathom. Still, it seemed that some of Galger's predictions came true. Granted, he wasn't any taller, or linking arms with some blond Snurkette, which was somewhat of a relief.

He loved his friends, and he was finally starting to be noticed by others a little more for his accomplishments instead of Zino immediately and unwittingly taking the credit, but... well, mainly, he wanted someone else around who could help him get his mind _off _of the whole thing. He could exist in his own little world that he shared with his world, and forget the feeling of dread that nagged at him every day. He wanted to do what _he _wanted to do, not what Albert _wrote _for him to do. Which made him want to do something that was completely unlike him, now and then, as if to test the Creator's power over him. Something spontaneous.

Maybe he'd kiss Zino.

Buu chuckled to himself, brushing the thought away. That _was _something quite different, but he decided he wasn't that desperate. Glancing down at his hands, he noticed that he'd brought that cup of tea with him, though by now, what was left of it was quite cold. Dumping it into the snow beside him, he sighed again. He never really liked tea that much. But the fact that he had even _tried _to drink it made him feel a little more free.

"That has to count for _something_, right, Albert?" he asked quietly, turning his gaze to the sky as if waiting for an answer. When no response came, he had to smirk in mild satisfaction as he headed back to the workshop.


End file.
